HQ Origins Chapter 1: Little Miss Quinzel
by drharleyqueenzel
Summary: This fic is my take on Harley Quinn's origin story. Now I have taken elements from the animated series and I kind of framed the characters around the SS versions of Harley and Mister J. I also just made a lot up with the help of a friend who brainstorms with me, she is in every way the brains behind this operation as well. This is our rendition of the queen of Gotham's beginning.
1. Chapter 1: Little Miss Quinzel

I woke up at 6am, sliding my finger across my phone screen to shut off the alarm. I'll admit I was excited and perhaps a little apprehensive but excited none the less. I had been anticipating this day for months as staff from the asylum, police officers, and military professionals tried to prepare me for one of the biggest if not _the_ biggest moment of my career.  
I spent seven years at an Ivy League university to get my PHD in psychology, forced my way up, and fought to create a name for myself. I had treated many patients, my work had been published, and I had conducted seminars, and buried myself in research all for an opportunity like this one.  
My colleagues thought I was stupid to take the job, for one hour, one day a week at 10am sharp I would travel to the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane and analyse one of Gotham's most notorious criminal: The Joker. My colleagues thought it was a waste of time, _why try to fix or understand an un-fixable and insane man?_ They kept asking me. Call it naive, but I didn't believe that, I believed everyone could be saved in some way; they just had to want it. I wasn't a fool either, despite what most people thought. They don't give a damn about my publications, my PHD's, or my work with The Riddler. All they see is the blonde and the boobs, and the naivety… but I know my value. I know I am damn good at what I do, and again, I am no fool. I know what The Joker has done, he is a murderer, an arsonist, a terrorist, and that is only a vague and shortened list of his crimes. He had been deemed criminally insane, and I, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, his last chance at redemption.  
Many psychologists had tried, most quitting, others going completely insane. The most notable case was in regards to Doctor Iobard Shrike. He had had a similar opportunity with The Joker three years ago but it did not end well. Four sessions, that's all it took for Iobard to decide to set his house on fire with his pregnant wife trapped inside, rob a bank, and then shoot himself whilst surrounded by the police. No one knew what The Joker had said to him, Shrike had burned his tapes and his notes to make sure of it. It took me weeks just to convince all parties to keep the cameras off to gain the patients trust, under the condition that once my time with him was done (however long or short that may be) I would surrender a copy of my files to the police and undergo a thirty minute debrief/psychological evaluation after every session.  
Getting out of bed I showered and dressed for the big day.

***  
It took me an hour to get through security and again to listen to what I had already been briefed on but I didn't complain, I was too focused, too excited, too nervous. Once I was in the room I pulled out my notebook and his rather thick file. Having the file out was more of a formality though, I knew that file back to front. I must have straightened and re-straightened the file a dozen times; strumming my fingernails on the cool metal table, practically buzzing with the anticipation of it all, and then he entered the room. He did not disappoint, he laughed, actually, as the guard roughly shoved him into his seat.  
Bound in a straitjacket, his teeth had been fixed with silver, his hair was the most vibrant green I had ever seen, his skin was pale, lips rouged, and his eyes… there was something indescribable about his eyes. I wrote notes about his appearance, mentally noting the irony of the 'Damaged' tattoo on his forehead. I turned my recorder on.  
"Well aren't you a dream," he purred, before laughing again.  
I pushed my glasses up with my forefinger. "Mister… J, my name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel, I will be seeing you for one hour, once a week from now on."  
"Is that right? Is that right, Doc?" He laughed lightly.  
As cliché as this first meeting would start out, I felt like it had to be done.  
"So, how are you today, Mister J?" I asked.  
He looked down at himself, "A little tied up, but other than that, just swell," he said in a half mocking tone.  
I powered on, flipping through his file without needing to look. He just stared at me, he rolled his head cracking his neck and extending it. I wrote down that it may be a telling tick of some sort, or perhaps his bindings were simply uncomfortable.  
"So, Mister J, you have been deemed clinically insane,"  
"Well shucks," I ignored him.  
"You're in here for murder, theft, arson; you have more crimes under your belt than most."  
"Just makin' a living," he purred.  
I arched a brow, "Okay, your most recent endeavour resulted in an Italian mobster being tortured for five days, why? You call _that_ making a living?"  
"He didn't laugh at my joke."  
"And you think that's justified?" I asked.  
He leaned back in his seat, "Do you think it's justified?"  
"I want to talk about you."  
"But _I_ think you are so much more interesting."  
Licking my lips I clasped my hands together on the table, "Mister J, do you think it was justified?" I repeated patiently.  
He groaned a loud, long, and obnoxious groan that annoyed me slightly and he rolled his neck.  
"Mister J-"  
"Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Tell me, did your mommy and daddy read to you growing up?"  
I shifted in my seat, "Mister J I want to talk about-"  
"Tell me if you know this one. Little Miss Muffet, she sat on a tuffet-"  
"Mister-"  
"Eating her curds and whey;  
There came a great spider;  
Who sat down beside her,"  
He stared at me in a way that made my blood run cold, "And frightened Little Miss Muffet away."  
I cleared my throat before resuming, "Mister J I think we should utilise the time we have left-"  
He smacked his head hard on the table and I jumped. "Little Miss Doctor," Another bang of his head and I began to panic.  
"Please stop!"  
"Was off her rocker," BANG.  
"Thinking she could save the day," his voice rose with each line, and blood dripped down his forehead.  
"Then came The Joker!" BANG. The guards burst into the room, grabbing him as he struggled.  
"Who wanted to choke her," his eyes burned me as he was yanked from the room. I could hear his laugh as he yelled the last line of his sick poem, "And frightened Little Miss Quinzel away!" More laughter before it died off in the distance.  
I must have stared at the blood on the table for several minutes, scarcely breathing before I was able to pack up my things and leave.

***

Bolting upright in bed I was drenched in sweat and I could still feel his eyes on me, I could still hear his dying laughter. Turning my lamp on my Chiappa Rhino 60DS was aimed at the silhouette by the window in seconds.  
"I'm not here to hurt you, Doctor Quinzel," The Bat said in a deep gravelly voice.  
"No, you're just here to break and enter, not very classy."  
He ignored this and I lowered my gun, I couldn't see his face but I knew he was looking at it.  
"It's registered, it's a dangerous city we live in," I said, not that I owed him an explanation.  
"That's why I am here, to protect this city, to protect people like you, to make it better."  
I gave him a look, "I can take care of myself, now may I ask why you are here?"  
Just because he was Batman it didn't give him the right to break into people's houses whenever it pleased him.  
"I wanted to ensure you were okay, The Joker, he's tricky. He is manipulative, and I just don't want him to use y-"  
I let out an indignant laugh, "You've broken in to offend me by insulting my intelligence and capabilities as a psychiatrist?"  
"I meant no offence," he said quickly. "I'm just saying he is a lunatic, a psychopath, many have tried and failed to 'help' him. He has a way of breaking people and as a woman-"  
I clenched my fists. I was so tired of people like Batman, The Joker, and my colleagues thinking that I did not have what it takes. They reduced me to my sex and they only saw what they wanted to see, everyone always did.  
"Look Batsy," I cut him off, "If you have issues with my sex or intelligence I'd be happy to show you my degrees, or the door. I'm a professional; this is what I do for a living. I understand The Joker is a dangerous man; I have dealt with many like him. Thank you for your concern but please leave."  
He was silent for a moment before he gritted out quickly "Keep your guard up, you don't want to end up like Shrike, keep him out of your head."  
And then he was gone, back to whatever cave he crawled out of. I couldn't help but wonder if The Joker was already in my head. All I could hear, echoing in the recesses of my mind was his voice as he recited the last line of the poem, _And frightened Little Miss Quinzel away!  
_ Almost, Mister J, but I'm going to prove him wrong. I don't give up that easily even though I was kind of rattled, I can take it. I knew what I was getting myself into, and unlike Iobard Shrike, I was going to last damn longer than four days. The joke will be on The Joker this time. He only made me more determined to help him today. Thinking about the look on his face when he saw me at our next session made me smile, but an awful sense of foreboding washed over me as well. As I slowly began to fall asleep his shocking antics invaded my dreams once again.

 **(That is it for chapter one. The reason we made Mister J have a violent outburst instead of immediately laying it thick on the charm, is because we figured he has been through this too many times. He wanted to test her, he wanted to see if she can handle him and it was kind of a scare tactic to weed out the weak if that makes sense.)**


	2. Chapter 2: Curiouser and Curiouser

He was already seated when I entered the room and I faltered. His blank blue eyes lit up, widening only a fraction when they landed on me and he laughed. My resolve was firm though, and my heels clicked on the cement floors as I crossed the room and took my seat. I set my recorder on the table and turned it on.  
"Well, well, well, come back for more did you? Little Miss Muffet."  
I folded my hands on the table, looking him directly in the eye. "I'm going to be with you until all of my questions are answered, so if it's more you're offering have at it because we're both not going anywhere anytime soon."  
He smirked, laughing in that intriguing and unsettling way. I leaned forward in my seat.  
"You think you're a funny man, Mister J?" I asked.  
"Oh, I know I am doll. Why? Do you want to hear a joke?"  
Alright, I'll play along. Crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back in my chair I gestured for him to proceed.  
"Roses are blonde, violets are green, the only joke here," he cocked his head to the side. "Is little Mrs Harleen," he laughed again.  
I pushed my glasses up, making a show of slow clapping and he grinned, moving his head from side to side, seemingly pleased with himself.  
"Colour me impressed, Mister J," I said blandly.  
"Now, you're sweet talkin' me, Doc."  
Pursing my lips I flipped open his file, "Arson, murder, theft-"  
"This again," he groaned, leaning his head back so he was looking up at the ceiling.  
I smirked, "Mister J, what separates you from let's say, one of your henchman? We have quite a few of your pals in here, all with files just as thick, or" I paused for effect, "Dare I say, thicker."  
His eyes narrowed and I knew I was dancing across a minefield. Egging on a sociopath with psychotic tendencies was in no way standard protocol, but if I wanted to earn his trust I had to earn at least some semblance of his respect first. I'll admit, saying what I did felt kind of good after last week's incident.  
"They don't have anything on me, baby doll, I can show you that," he said, his voice laced with the threat.  
He rolled his head, cracking his neck in irritation. I swallowed, remaining impassive as I proceeded to push further. "They've killed, they've stolen, what makes you so special? Huh, Mister J?"  
"They don't do it for the joke! They're all just as ignorant as you, all of that education and for what blondie?" He growled.  
His jabs only fuelled my fire, "You're no different from them-"  
"They are vulgar, depraved, they kill and steal just because they can-"  
I tossed a photo of the charred remains of a mother of two, her children had been burned severely, one of them had died in the ICU. "And this isn't depraved? This isn't just as vulgar? You don't kill just because you can? I see no difference."  
"That's because you're as blind as a bat," he laughed at his own joke.  
I glared at him, "And you're as mad as a hatter just like every other loon in here."  
His eyes murdered me in one hundred different ways. Rising to my feet I packed up my things even though we still had quite a lot of time left. I leaned in so I was just out of his reach, but I was close enough to surprise him.  
"What's wrong Mister J? Can't take a joke?"  
He did something I didn't expect then, he purred looking at me in a way that made blood rush to my cheeks.  
"This was fun, I'll see you next week," He stretched closer and I could feel his breath warm on my face, "Alice."  
I turned my back on him, pounding on the door so the guard would let me out.  
"Down, down, down, down, down, the rabbit hole she does," I heard him sing softly.

***

"I did not understand my patient at first in regards to his abhorrence to the idea that was just like any other clinically insane individual, but I believe I am starting to. During our session Mister J said that I was as blind as a bat," I paused, rubbing my lower lip with my forefinger. "At first I thought it was just a pun, but now I think it's more than that." I ended the recording, flopping back on my bed and I stared at the pale white ceiling having the oddest thought that Mister J and I were probably sharing a similar view.

***2 Months Later***

I felt like I was making progress, no matter how little that progress was. I believe the turning point in our relationship had been during our second meeting when I had angered him. He didn't want to scare me off now, no. Now he wanted to make me understand, like me, he had a point to prove.  
Entering the room he grinned at me and I smiled in return. He waited patiently for me to set up and get my recorder ready.  
"Doctor Quin-zel, I live for these moments with you," he said adding that little lilt to my name like he always did.  
I pushed my glasses up and he laughed, drawing my attention. What was so funny? As if reading my mind he said, "You do that with your glasses a lot."  
I arched a brow. He's perceptive, then again, he was a very intelligent man, everyone just disregarded it and labelled it as madness.  
"Do what?" I asked.  
"You push up your glasses whenever you want to change the subject or get… _fl_ ustered," he drew out the word, letting it roll off his tongue.  
A childish part of me wanted to deny it even though I knew it to be true. Strumming my fingernails on the table I leaned forward, speaking lightly.  
"Can I say something I've noticed about you?"  
He looked down at his restraints, "I'm not in a position to stop you, Doc."  
I suppressed a smile. His humour was no longer used against me in a condescending or rude way for the most part which was an improvement.  
"Whenever you're feeling something whether it be irritation, anger… or something more, whenever you are… conflicted you roll your head and crack your neck."  
His eyes narrowed a fraction and he grinned, leaning forward.  
"Do I make you flustered, Doctor Quinzel?" He asked, disregarding my observation.  
I almost pushed my glasses up and had to stop myself which made him laugh.  
"Oh Doc, are you gettin' sweet on me?" He teased.  
I grew slightly angry then, withdrawing. Pull yourself together Quinzel and get to work. I straightened, flipping through my notes.  
"So, Mister J, last week we left off talking about your father."

***

I felt his lips on my breast as his fingers so long and slender slipped inside of me. My back arched and those lips, those sweet, soft lips found my mouth and I wound my fingers in his hair. I felt him ready and waiting for me, my teeth sinking into his shoulder as he slowly began to enter me.  
 _Doctor Quin-zel,_  
No… No, no, no, no, no.  
 _I live for these moments with you_.  
I woke up gasping, a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin and desire still coursed through my veins. I had just had sex dream about my patient. My mentally ill, criminal patient and I had wanted him in the dream, _desperately_.  
"What's wrong, _Harleen_?"  
I whipped out my gun, aiming it all around the room in a panic but no one was there, I already knew that. The voice belonged to me, only it wasn't me, it was in my head.  
"You scared?" She whispered and I gulped, my breath coming out hard.  
There was something familiar about that voice, something that took me back to a time I had spent years trying and failing to forget. When I was little I had one friend, and she had been my best friend in the whole world. She had also been imaginary but that wasn't relevant or unnatural. I used to refer to Harley as my twin sister because I imagined her looking exactly like me, but she was so different. She was the me I wanted to be, but it all became exceptionally less normal when she was still with me past the age of seven… she started to scare me a little. She had been my protector and my friend but she had also been a bully, and a liar, a prankster, and a violent sociopath.  
With my occupation I was able to understand that she was a projection of the darker parts of me. As I grew she vanished because I stopped needing her which happens for all imaginary friends.  
And yet, sitting here now, the voice I had heard I am so sure had been hers. The voice was not one of a child, no, but it was child-like, teasing, it was hers. She had the Brooklyn accent that I tried so hard to mask and my huskiness. It was fast and it was fleeting but I felt so sure it had been her.  
Running a hand down my face I sighed, dropping my gun into the drawer of my bedside table. The stress and these late nights analysing my notes and trying to understand my patient was getting to me. I hadn't had a decent sleep for a while and it wasn't doing me any favours. I'll have to take a day to myself, go to the gym, watch a movie, sleep all day and just relax.  
Perhaps it would be even smart to quit. I lasted a hell of a lot longer than Shrike, and my colleagues (even though they refused to take the case on) would never let me live it down, but what could I do? Every thought I had was about him, and I had just had a very questionable dream about him. This had to stop. o

 **(Reasoning's: So, a few things I am going to address, the first is in regards to some who might think it was out of character for Harley to be so confrontational towards Mister J or to people who think her ability to have gotten a rise out of him was out of character. Now, we felt even though in the animated series and in Suicide Squad their relationship seemed to be immediate and Mister J/The Joker seemed to lay on the charm very quickly finding an escape in her, that wouldn't be the case in here. We felt like to do Harley justice we needed her to do this because there was a certain unpredictability to it. Mister J loves making fun of how predictable people are which is why he scared her in their first session, so when she came for round two he was only mildly surprised. When she insulted him it opened a door of intrigue, he saw a fire in her and decided he doesn't just want her to help him escape, he wants to make her understand his motives. We wanted him to be intrigued by her intelligence but amused by her naivety.  
-The reason why Harley brought up the fire that killed a mother and killed one of her kids is because in SS it was made very clear that kids are kind of a soft spot for her. Even if the fire was just set at random the fact that a mother and child died still triggers her and she needs to understand why/how he could do such a thing without remorse. This will be fleshed out later.  
-The imaginary Harley: This I had convince my partner of, now I don't like the idea that Mister J created Harley so much, because I believe Harley was kinda inside her from the beginning and he just kind of lured her out/merged the two. My partner agreed with me so this will be explained more in the chapters to come.  
-Also for all you animated series lovers going 'Bruh, I thought she was only in Arkham really to make money off of the book she wanted to write about the criminals she treated' We took this out of our fic because we felt like it did not work with the way that we see Harley. This is our interpretation after all.)**


	3. Chapter 3: Pressure Test

Feeling slightly dishevelled I readied everything, barely noticing he had been lead in.  
"Something wrong, Doc?"  
"Huh?" I glanced up at him.  
He cocked his head to the side, eyeing me curiously and I pushed my glasses up and cleared my throat.  
"W- Why umm, why have you requested that we meet two times a week, Mister J?"  
The most surprising part was that his request had been granted which would make quitting all the more humiliating. Mister J smiled at me and I looked down at the table.  
"Perhaps I just like seeing your pretty little face now."  
That does it, come on Quinzel, "I regret to inform you that," he gave me a strange look, a look that made me falter, "t-that this will be our final meeting."  
He was silent for a few minutes, his eyes narrowing before he whispered a disbelieving,  
" _What_?"  
I couldn't look at him; I kept speaking in a detached tone.  
"I'm sure the asylum will find you a psychiatrist that can better-"  
"I _want_ you," he snapped, and my eyes widened as they met his.  
He had said it with such anger, such intensity, but he spoke gently next asking, "Why, Doc?"  
I licked my lips, "I feel my position has been compromised by my recent inability to remain neutral and professional. I think it would be best for me if-"  
"But what about me?"  
That hit me like a blow to the chest. He was trying to get to me, I knew it, and as much as I hated to admit it, it was working.  
"I'll ensure that you are given the best car-"  
"You have been giving me the best care. I'm able to see you as a… friend. I _trust_ you," he purred.  
I don't trust myself. I was no friend to him; I knew that, not in the traditional sense anyway. It was impossible really know what he was thinking, but I had been trying.  
"I _need_ you, Doctor Quinzel. You're the only one who _understands_ me," he placed a curious emphasis on the last part of his sentence, but I couldn't focus on that.  
He needs me? Was I really helping him that much or was this all a game? I mean… no other psychiatrist ever made it to the point where he was asking for two sessions a week, that's something right? But I was attracted to him and that was crossing the line. As if he knew what I had been thinking he leaned across the table, "I think you're a pretty little package too, Doc."  
My lips parted as I looked at him and he took advantage of my shock to continue, "I don't think that compromises anything. I think it connects us, it makes… therapy easier, no?"  
Perhaps, but it doesn't mean it was right. "Goodbye, Mister J."  
"Wait! Wait! Wait!" He began to bang his head off the table with a speed and force that made my blood ran cold.  
Before his antics could alert the guards I moved to Mister J, catching his face between my hands before his head could hit the table again. I realised this was the closest I had ever been to him, his eyes half-closed from the disorientation; his face was warm and soft between my hands.  
"Please don't do that ever again," I whispered, pulling a tissue from my pocket and wiping the blood that was dripping down his face.  
"Don't leave me, Doc. Not like the rest."  
His head slumped, resting on my shoulder and I couldn't move. I could hardly breathe as I tried to hold back tears; I placed a hand on the back of his head, holding him to me.  
"Okay, Mister J… you win. I'll stay."  
He was shaking, and I couldn't tell if it was because he was crying or laughing.

***

I _need_ you.  
I kept replaying that moment over and over again until the batteries in my recorder died. Perhaps it was a clever play, or the truth, or both. All I knew was that today had had an impact on me, all of our sessions had, but this was different. I was attracted to him, I was so set on leaving but he had reacted so severely that I couldn't… and if I didn't go back. I shuddered at the thought.  
Mister J had a limit, it was in his file. This wasn't his first time in Arkham and for his own 'safety' and for the staffs, he was given a limit. If he had a particularly violent outburst that exceeded that limit he would go through electroshock therapy to 'correct' his behaviour. That's why I had tried to calm him as fast as possible today. He had endured the treatment four times (according to his file) and if he wasn't careful they'd schedule him for a fifth. I didn't want him going through another treatment, especially not because of me. I didn't agree with it, I can't treat him if his brain is more scrambled than it already is.  
The system here in Gotham was flawed; I wouldn't be surprised if during another treatment he 'met an unfortunate end'. He had a lot of enemies, and in here… people stop caring. It was like the Stanford Prison Experiment in here. You slap a badge on a person and they get a sense of inflated authority, it is their way or the highway and everyone becomes a pawn in their game. In here the patients stop being people to the staff, yes the patients are criminals and 'insane' ones at that but the staff start to get a warped sense of authority. The patients start becoming toys. It was a sad use of their power but there was nothing I could do. I was just one woman and this place, this city, it was sick. It had been for a long time. I liked to think I could… alter things somehow just by being here. I mean I must have a little or else Mister J probably would have been left in a hole somewhere.  
During his stay in Arkham, before Shrike, his psychiatrist wasn't treating him right. Mister J was on so many medications it should have killed him, they almost did when his medications reacting to each other created a toxic cocktail that put him in the hospital for a week. I'm surprised they didn't let him die. Needless to say, Mister J escaped the hospital and went after his ignorant doctor. The police found his psychiatrist a month later addicted to so many drugs he didn't know his own name, he overdosed not too long after that.  
It was a sad thing, but he wasn't innocent either, the Doc. He wasn't doing his job, he didn't care about his patients, and he overdosed Mister J whether it had been a result of pure negligence or his own personal vendetta is uncertain. We're supposed to help and protect and try to make the world better. If we stop caring about what is right, if we stop fighting for it, then what's the point? What then separates us from them?  
Quickly I flipped open my notebook and began to detail today's session and analyse his behaviour. I also noted my little epiphany, my little understanding of just how fragile the dichotomy between good and evil really was.

 **[Short Chapter for tonight I know. As for reasoning's: Now, to anyone who is upset about Harley trying to leave we thought it was important. It was important for her to start to realise her feelings, but it was also important in regards to the Joker to emotionally manipulate her. That is one of the things The Joker does, he finds a certain pleasure in manipulating people to bend to his will so this is kind of the real moment that we wanted it to begin. He wants to play on her emotions and even though Harley is very intelligent her conflicting feelings towards him as a result of her attraction and her role as his psychiatrist makes it easier for him to slip past her defences when they are down for a moment.  
As for his violent reaction, again, it is in part because he has been weaving a careful and slow web with this woman for 2 months, he is not letting his means of escape go so easily, and again it is more of that emotional/mental manipulation. As for her little epiphany its relevancy will become more aware to you in Chapter 4 but it was important because it kind of shows how she is starting to see that Gotham is sick, that the people are sick, and it is the beginning of her realisation that perhaps there is no good or evil which will be fleshed out as the fic progresses. We hope you like it! Also, if you ever have any suggestions, feedback or just wanna share your take on a scene or talk to us about our process or anything,** **please feel free.]**


	4. Chapter 4: Trigger Warning

"Hey, hey, Mister J?"  
He stared out the barred windows. There wasn't much to see, high up as we were, just the expanse of grey sky and the rain as it pelted the windows. I'll admit, I was a bit concerned. I had addressed him three times but he didn't respond. When he had been lead in he lacked his usual swagger, his movements had been slow and clumsy.  
I wasn't supposed to touch him, I was supposed to keep my distance in the event that he became violent but I trusted him, and my worry outweighed the need for caution.  
Rising to my feet I moved in front of him and as if noticing me for the first time he grinned lazily.  
"Hiya…" he had to think for a moment, "Doc."  
Feeling his forehead I noted he was cool and clammy, his pupils looked enlarged and he would shiver every now and again.  
"Mister J, are you unwell?"  
I already knew what was wrong but I didn't want to be right.  
"Huh?" He laughed, resting his head on the table.  
Grabbing his chart I flipped to this week becoming very angry. They had switched his medication to a cheaper no-name brand and had upped his dosage without notifying or clearing it with me. The nurses who administer the medication _know_ they can't do that. They know he has to be weaned off his old medication first, or they had to at least make the transition to the new drug more gradual. This brand was shit anyway, they couldn't do this. I wouldn't let them.  
Pounding on the door the guard stepped in, looking mildly irritated when nothing seemed to be amiss.  
"What?" He grunted.  
"I want the Director to be brought down here immediately."  
The guard arched a thick blonde brow, "Listen, sweetheart, the Director is-"  
"I _wasn't_ asking," I cut him off, the venom in my tone clearly giving him pause.  
"I'll see what I can do."  
Cursing under his breath he shut the door behind him. _Much appreciated._

***

"Doctor Quinzel, what is this about? This isn't protocol."  
The Director of Arkham Asylum, Doctor Joseph Lang stood with his arms crossed and his expression sour, just in front of the cell door he had just entered. I wasn't fond of him, but he was my superior, so I tolerated him. He was a round but fit man with rich dark skin and he always had an air about him like you were wasting his time.  
"Changing a patients medication and dosage without clearance from his doctor isn't exactly standard protocol either, now is it, Director Lang?" I asked, watching as his eyes narrowed.  
"You have a sharp tongue, Doctor Quinzel, but obviously one of the nurse's thought-"  
"But _I_ am his doctor. It should have been cleared with me; I want him back on his other medication at its proper dosage." I said firmly.  
"Doctor Quinzel, I cleared the change. The new medication can be good for him given his reputation for violence, a change back hardly seems necessary."  
I pushed my glasses up, taking a calming breath before walking over to Mister J to prove a point.  
"Mister J? Mister J, can you talk to me?"  
A doped up laugh was all I got, Mister J's head never lifted from the table. I looked at the director.  
"Now, you hired me, no, I'm sorry, a judge appointed me to Mister J's case. I am here to do my job and treat a patient, _**not**_ an invalid. How can I conduct my sessions if he is too medicated to hold his head up let alone hold a conversation? Now," My anger was making me a tad courageous, or perhaps reckless was a more fitting word.  
"It would be very kind of you to return him to his old medication, or else I might be forced to bring this to the board or the media for that matter. They might not care about him but they might be interested in opening an investigation to see if any other deviations in protocol to save the asylum money at the expense of the patient's welfare are being made." I said quickly, squaring my shoulders.  
He gave me a glacial look pursing his lips. He could have fired me right then and there but instead he said in a clipped tone,  
"I don't take very kindly to threats."  
"It's only a threat if it's true, Director Lang. I would also like to take this opportunity to request that for my Wednesday sessions I want to move him to my office, _without_ the straitjacket. You can bolt his leg to the floor, shackle him, or put a shock collar on him, do whatever you have to do, but no jacket."  
The Director actually had the gall to look amused, but he shrugged.  
"Fine, it's your head you're risking." He probably wishes I would be killed on the job. Without another word he pounded on the door and left us. I heard Mister J laugh again.  
"I knew you would take care of me," he said in a slurred and slow tone.  
It's all part of the job.  
"You'll be okay; Mister J. Let's get you back to your cell so you can rest, hmm?"  
 **(This chapter is going to be a bit shorter because I want to do an extra long chapter for chapter 5. Now, reasoning's: The reason we decided to OD Mister J was because we thought it was important for two reasons. Reason #1. It was important to show the contrast in Harleen from Chapter 1, and to show she is actually starting to give a damn about Mister J. In Chapter one Mister J could be shoved in a chair and treated however the guards saw fit but now, despite all he has done she feels the need to protect him because no one else will.  
Reason #2, it was important for Harley, even if she doesn't realize it yet, to see first hand just how corrupt the system in Gotham is. The Joker wants her to understand that because his whole ideal is that everyone is inherently shit, that good and evil are illusions (Think back to her epiphany in CH 3) so this is only a small instance which adds to her growing unrest and abhorrence of how the world works. We felt this was a good stepping stone to highlight her growing care for Mister J, as well as a good stepping stone for her later transformation into Harley Quinn.  
We also felt it was necessary to give Harleen a badass/mic drop moment because she is amazing and we thought a great way to do that would be for her to sass the director.  
Xoxo** **,  
Doc)**


	5. Chapter 5: Beauty from Pain

I hung upside down from the ceiling feeling the blood rushing to my head and I couldn't help but to love the feel of my muscles stretching. The silks wrapped around my thighs felt good, it had been a while since I was on them.  
When I was younger I always quite liked the idea of being a spider monkey, so when my… when my dad took us to the Circus one year I thought the aerial silk performers were so beautiful. They hung up there like graceful monkeys climbing up their vines.  
Feeling a tug on one of my silks I opened my eyes and took out one of my headphones. Looking down at the person I recognized the man, he was the new head of security at the asylum. The only questionable thing was how he recognized me from up here; we had only had one meeting.  
"What's it like up there?" He asked.  
I altered my position, manipulating the silks so I was upright.  
"What can I do for you Mr…? I beg your pardon, I've seemed to have forgotten your name," and I genuinely had.  
He waved a hand to brush it off, "Brody, Allistair Brody."  
I didn't know him at all but from what I had observed I didn't think I would like him. I didn't like the way he looked at me and I didn't like his tone. His face says good ole' boy with his thick brown locks, chiselled features, and bright smile made boyish by his dimples. However, his voice held an arrogance and tone reminiscent of a playground bully and behind that twinkle in his green eyes was something dark and unkind.  
"What can I do for you, Mr Brody?" I asked politely, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.  
"Nothin', nothin', I just saw you and thought I would introduce myself in a less formal setting. I'm excited to be working with you."  
I uncurled, flipping around until I was on the floor. I had to meet my trainer anyway… and potentially find a new gym. I liked peace and quiet while I trained, my brain hasn't known much of that lately.  
"I look forward to working with you too, Mr. Brody. If you'll excuse-"  
"You're working with the circus freak, right?"  
I stiffened, pausing for a moment while gathering my things. Circus freak? _Very_ original. Choosing to ignore his comment given that he was new and I wanted to keep my good mood in tact I straightened.  
"Yes, I am working with The Joker. It was very nice to see you, Mr. Brody, but my trainer will be waiting."  
"Yeah, yeah, of course, I'll see you at work, foxy."  
With a wink he was gone. Well, alright-y then… foxy? I shuddered, hopefully that nickname doesn't stick.

***

"What happened to you?"  
I looked up at Mister J; his strait jacket was gone, as promised. He sat on the couch, his ankle was shackled and I was given a small remote that would send an electric current through the shackle if he got violent. When the guard had left us I put the remote in my desk drawer.  
For a moment I was distracted, he wore the standard white jumpsuit but his was unbuttoned to the middle of his stomach exposing his ink. I wondered how the guards allowed this deviation in dress code. His chest was muscular, toned, pale… beautiful.  
"Is this better?" I asked, gesturing around the room.  
"Doctor Quin-zel," he said my last name with that little lilt again, tapping his face.  
I touched the bruise that shaded my cheekbone.  
"Ahh, yes, training. I took a pipe to the face."  
He looked mildly surprised and intrigued, "Did it hurt?"  
"Yes, but I have a high pain tolerance, but you, you like pain don't you? You like inflicting it and obviously you can take it." He smiled as though pleased with me.  
"Guilty," he said, his tone teasing.  
The room was dimly lit; the only sound for a few seconds was the soft pelting of rain against the window and our breathing. He seemed to ponder whether or not he wanted to say more for a couple of seconds and I watched him. He leaned back, reclining on the leather chaise before he began.  
"Yes, I suppose I do like pain," he said wistfully.  
"But you don't get off on it, usually at least. There's something more to it, isn't there?"  
He laughed, "I knew there was a reason I liked you," he spoke with his hands I noted, elegant and inked hands, dangerous hands.  
"There's an art to pain, you see, whether you inflict it or you take it. Have you ever stabbed someone, Doctor Quin-zel?"  
At the beginning of our sessions a question like that would have made me uncomfortable, but instead I was mildly amused by how natural the question was for him to ask. Crossing my legs I rested my hands on my knee.  
"I can't say I've had the pleasure."  
"Ahh," he sighed, as though reminiscing, "it's a wonderful thing, a beautiful, beautiful act."  
"Opposed to shooting someone?"  
"Shooting someone is too quick; you don't get to… savour it. You don't get to see," he murmured.  
His eyes met mine then, "When you stab someone, Doc, as they realize their end is only a mere moments away they show you who they really are."  
I thought about this for a second before giving him a scenario, "A mother is stabbed protecting her child, I'd think watching her die would be very-"  
He waved a dismissive hand, "That situation is irrelevant, and if we are being honest with ourselves Doc, that is a rare occurrence reserved for Hollywood, now," he sat up like an eager teacher who wanted to watch his star pupil understand something.  
"It's what you see; you stab a mother saving her child, yes? You don't see that undying love; in her eyes you see her sins. You see her cheating husband and just how much she loathed that child for taking her youth, her beauty, and her husband away. In the end you're doing that shitty mother a favour, who she really is, is awful and who would want to protect that? Why would _anyone_ want to protect someone like her?" He laughed at this, cocking his head to the side and I pursed my lips.  
"By anyone I assume you mean Batman?" I asked.  
"You're thinkin' small, Doc, but you'll get there. I have high hopes for you."  
I wasn't sure if I liked the way he said that, but I was happy I had pleased him. I couldn't take what he said at face value, of course, but he already seemed more animated. I was happy he trusted me, perhaps with that in mind I would be able to take control of these sessions again. I was learning a lot about him but it was time to really start _helping_ him.  
For a moment he looked distracted, "Did you change your perfume, Doc?"  
It took me so much by surprise that for a few seconds I couldn't really form a coherent thought and then when I did decide to say something it hadn't been what I had intended.  
"Yes, do you like it?"  
A small sound that vibrated in his chest came from him before he grinned, "You got a boyfriend, Doc?"  
I shifted uncomfortably, pushing my glasses up. I didn't have friends really, let alone a boyfriend. I shouldn't have asked him if he liked my perfume, it was stupid.  
"Umm, no, no I don't."  
"Oh, come on Doc, a vision like you?"  
Quite the charmer, wasn't he? "Most men are intimidated by women with opinions, a brain, or a career for that matter."  
Shifting again his comment startled me, "I'm not most men."  
Eyeing him curiously I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at him in a semi-amused and disturbed fashion.  
"No, you most certainly are not, Mister J."  
I shook my head to clear it, my cheeks warming considerably. The sound of the door opened made me jump and I turned to see Mr. Brody poking his head in.  
"What's shakin', Foxy?"  
"Mr. Brody that is highly unprofessional," I said, annoyance flaring within me but I smiled kindly.  
Rising from my seat Mr Brody shut the door behind him; he had a permanent grin on his face.  
"I'm in the middle of a session."  
"Right, right, the clown man, how ya' doin'?" He winked at Mister J, which was wildly inappropriate, before focusing back on me.  
"Mr. Brody, I know you are relatively new here but-"  
"I'll make this quick," his smile fell and his eyes narrowed, "Where is the remote?"  
For a moment I didn't understand what one earth he was talking about so he turned on Mister J.  
" _ **You**_ , inmate, cough it up!" Brody pushed me behind him.  
"Mr. Brody-"  
"What game are you playin' at? Huh, clown? I gave you an order!"  
Mister J laughed and I quickly went to my desk.  
"I don't have anything, pal, and it's Mister J or J. Learn it well."  
"You scum-"  
I stepped in front of Mister J, holding the small silver remote in front of Brody's face. He looked at it, but continued to glare over my head at Mister J.  
"I have it, no stop."  
"Keep it on you, it's for your safety," he said through gritted teeth.  
"Noted, now what did you need?" I said calmly and he looked down at me.  
"Just wanted to let you know that every so often you'll get a surprise visit from me to ensure everything is going well,"  
"Ahh, a babysitter," Mister J chuckled.  
I placed a hand on Brody's chest when he moved towards Mister J.  
"He is my patient, and I would appreciate if you didn't upset him. Is that all Mr. Brody?"  
His fists were clenched, I could see a muscle in his jaw ticking, "Your evaluation after this meeting has been moved to C-Block, room six eighteen."  
And with that Brody was gone. I just stood there for a moment, pinching the bridge of my nose.  
"What a guy," Mister J said.  
I couldn't help it, I just laughed. I laughed until tears were streaming down my face and I sat back down in my chair.  
"That right there is music to my ears."  
I wiped my eyes, still laughing lightly, "You're just being sweet with me now, Mister J."  
"It's hard not to be when you got a smile like that, doll."  
Smirking I tossed the remote back in the drawer before folding my hands in my lap. We had a half hour left and there was still much to do.  
"He likes you, you know? I could see it in the way he was undressing you with his eyes-"  
"Mister J," I said firmly.  
He held his hands up in an innocent gesture, "Hey, I am just telling you what I see."  
I leaned forward, "I already know. I know what people see when they look at me, I _know_ men. I'm also a psychiatrist Mister J, so human behaviour and the inner workings of the mind are not lost on me." Straightening in my seat I wanted this conversation to drop altogether, he always had a way of driving attention away from him.  
How I looked was an issue that had been brought up time and time again and I was tired of it. Then again, it was one of the many pitfalls of being a woman. There is power in the female sex, to be sure, but I'd be damned if I use it to my advantage. It would be so much sweeter to claim my victory with my skill alone.  
"I feel like you are limiting yourself."  
"Huh?" I snapped out of it.  
"You're wastin' what the world gave ya!" He said with a violent growl.  
"Don't you mean God, isn't that how that saying goes?"  
"Not. At. All. That's all you; you just have to choose how you use it."  
"There are other ways of gaining power-"  
He stood up, his movements were restricted by the chain, "You're limiting yourself! A man gets all the power he needs just by being a man, for every step a man takes you have to take three, where is the justice in that? You don't want to what? Cheat? Men cheat just by being men so why not use everything you have to get what you want?" He demanded.  
His voice grew softer as he leaned forward, "Why not take what everyone else see's, use what everyone else thinks of you, and _use_ it."  
Licking my lips I stood up too and walked across the room. Rubbing the back of my neck I decided I wanted to change the subject for a minute. He wasn't wrong but I didn't want to acknowledge that right now.  
"Can you do something for me, Mister J?" I asked.  
He sat down and gestured for me to proceed, "Can you answer this question honestly, do you want to get better?"  
"Of course I do, Doc. You've helped me so much already."  
I nodded, pacing now, "Then I need you to tell me about your father,"  
His eyes narrowed but he rubbed his hands together and decided to do as I asked. (This scene was inspired by "Mad Love" from _The New Batman Adventures_ )  
"My father was… a drinker. You see, the only time I ever saw him happy was a rare occasion when he took me to the circus when I was seven,"  
This lured me in and I returned to my seat, listening attentively. "He used to beat me up pretty badly, but that day at the circus, I could almost imagine he never had. Every time I got out of line," he brought his fist down hard against his other hand and I flinched.  
"Sometimes I wouldn't be doing a damn thing and then bam!"  
"That must have been very traumatic for you,"  
He ignored that, continuing on, "But boy, did he enjoy the circus. I still remember the clowns running around and dropping their pants. Ahh, I had never seen my old man laugh so hard in his life. So the very next night, I devised a plan, you see?"  
He stood up again, "I went out to meet him with my pants around my ankles thinking, this'll make him laugh, and this will _please_ him."  
He shocked me by popping the rest of the buttons of his jumpsuit and letting it drop to the ground so he stood in his thin cotton boxers.  
"I said daaaaad look at me!"  
I covered my mouth giggling at his display. I had never in my wildest dreams thought he would do something like this, jokester or not. I was also taken aback to be seeing so much of him. He was perfectly sculpted, his shoulders were broad and his muscles chiselled, his boxers were riding low on his hips and his Adonis belt was riveting.  
"And then he broke my nose,"  
My laughter died in my throat and I looked up at him. His face was turned away, cast in shadow so I couldn't get a read on how he was feeling. When he turned back to me he was perfectly composed and he slowly put his jumper back on and sat down.  
"But hey, that's the downside of comedy. _You're always taking shots from people who just don't get the joke_."  
He placed an emphasis on the last part of his sentence which I knew I would play back over and over again later tonight. I knew he meant Batman, but Mister J's words came back to me, _You're thinking small_ , I have to think bigger. Hesitantly I leaned over, reaching a hand out to him before deeming it too unprofessional and letting it drop.  
"Thank you for your candor, Mister J," Of course I say candor even though, as sad as it is, I knew that story may only be a half-truth, if that.  
"I've never told anyone that story before," he sighed, and part of me was touched.  
"I'm proud of you Mister J, we're making progress."

***

 _I didn't like this dream, I knew I didn't like it because I was in Brooklyn and I had a feeling that in this particular dream I was eight. I could feel myself getting lost in it already.  
"Harley come on," It took me a moment for my dream self to respond because I hadn't gone by that name in a long time. However, hearing his voice was enough to make me whip around but he wasn't there.  
He must have gone inside already. I dropped my dolls and ran up the creaky porch steps and into the house. A dense fog of smoke choked me, I had gotten used to it even though I didn't like it. Daddy wouldn't have liked anyone smoking in the house either, but he wasn't here._ _  
"Adam?" I called.  
"Quit your yelling and get the hell in here," I heard the raspy voice of a female chain smoker.  
That voice belonged to someone I hated but my feet moved in the dream by their own volition. She sat on the tearing brown leather couch with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. I picked at the crust on my overalls from the jelly donut Adam had brought home for me._ _  
"Where the hell have you been?" She demanded.  
I looked down at my feet, "Playing outside,"  
"Playing? How old are you now?"  
It made me sad that she didn't know, "Eight, ma."  
"Eight, Jesus, come here, come sit down."  
I moved over to the sofa and took a seat; she put her cigarette out and gripped my chin too hard between her bony fingers. She was a pretty woman, she always had been, but tough times and bad choices were catching up with her.  
"Yeah, you'll do just fine. When those mosquito bites grow a bit all the boys will be after you, you can thank me for that," she raised her glass, releasing my chin and I rubbed it.  
"I don't like boys," I grumbled.  
She laughed a laugh that wasn't nice in the slightest, "Oh, you will honey. You'll grow up all pretty, you just gotta' use what God gave ya."  
"Daddy said the greatest power a girl has is her brain and that I should-"  
"I don't give a fuck what your daddy said, he was wrong, you hear me? Your greatest weapon is your body and don't you forget it. If there is anything you're gonna' learn from me kid it's that."  
"Harley come on, let's get you to bed," I looked up but he was suddenly gone in a sharp flash.  
The dream distorted and I began to see flashes of things, blood, my mom hissing harsh words in a dark kitchen, a headline, several headlines, a dirty bus station at 3am on a Saturday, a dead body, darkness._

 _***_

I opened my eyes feeling drained and numb. Sitting up I pressed play on the recorder and closed my eyes.

 **[Sooooooooooo time to list my reasons for things. Now, the reason we have decided to bring in Mr. Allistair Brody is mostly a secret, the most obvious reason though is that we are going to use him, Harley's growing dislike for him will mirror her growing disdain for the system and what it represents etc. Plus we just find him fun. All will be made clear in time.  
-The whole scene where Mister J talks about pain is a bit self explanatory, it was a way for Mister J to kind of size Harley up, but it was also more of an opportunity for Harley to try to understand Mister J  
-The flirting was for obvious reasons Mister J has to manipulate Harley, he does this in multiple ways, being rude to her, being sweet on her, telling her little things that aren't entirely true about him, making her want to know more about him, etc. He has to keep her interested and ensure she comes back and eventually lets him out of there.  
-The title choice as well as the theme of beauty and the powers of the female form were focused on heavily because Harley Quinn is known for using her sexuality and the stereotypes forced upon her to her advantage, she is smart like that. She lets everyone thinks she is a dope when in reality she is just as good at Mister J in regards to manipulation. So we felt the need to show her reluctance to accept that, she is still striving for a respect only based on her skill alone. We also wanted to mirror her conversation with Mister J with a conversation she had long ago with her mother. More of Harley's past will be explored in time  
-If you haven't noticed already, in the dream sequence Harleen is referred to as 'Harley' for reasons that will be made clear in time]**


	6. Chapter 6: Kidding Yourself

**[Hey lovelies, I'm back, and my partner and I hope you enjoy chapter six!]**

As it always seemed to happen, it was just another gloomy day in Gotham City. The rain pelted the windows and I remembered when I was little, I'd sit and imagine that the crystalline droplets were racing each other along the window panes. I had always liked the rain; there was a beauty in the darkness that came with it.  
"So, tell me more about your father,"  
He sat back and crossed his legs, and I clasped my hands together in my lap.  
"He was a therapist once, like you, which I find funny. He was good at his job; he married a slut thinking that his 'love' could 'fix' her. He used his skills to his advantage so I could never get away with anything; he always knew what was wrong and how to solve the problem. But he couldn't solve the problem in his marriage."  
My brows furrowed and Mister J leaned forward.  
He couldn't bring himself to give up on her even though she made him so… unhappy. Every Friday he'd bring her a mixed bouquet of hydrangeas, geraniums, and yellow chrysanthemums. Now, I may not seem like the type of person who knows a lot about flowers, but I do. To everyone else they must have seemed like the perfect couple, how loving he must be always buying her flowers, but all flowers have a meaning. A hydrangea symbolises heartfelt emotions, it also symbolises frigidity and heartlessness. The geranium is associated with stupidity and folly, and yellow chrysanthemums symbolise slighted love and sorrow. And my mother said my father didn't have a sense of humour."  
Mister J laughed lightly.  
"He brought her those flowers every Friday without fail and she tossed that beautiful bouquet in the trash every Friday without fail. She was too miserable to try and he didn't know when to stop trying. She would fuck anyone that breathed but he kept _trying_. He'd argue with her, analyse her, shower her with gifts, get her pregnant, and she'd treat him like something she stepped in.  
She thought my father was so pathetic, but I didn't, not at that age. I revered him. He worked so hard, he never let anyone know how tired he was, he was my hero. He helped so many people but it killed him that he couldn't help her… and in the end he couldn't help himself because he was murdered.  
"How did you feel when he died?"  
"I'm done talkin' about this, doc."  
He walked over to the chaise and gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze.  
"We're making progress Harley, I'm proud of you."  
"Thanks, Mister J."

***

I stared up at the pale ceiling for a long time after waking. I had an ache in my chest that made it difficult for me to breathe and tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I hadn't thought about my father in a long time, at least not consciously. There was too much pain in his memory, but that dream came out of nowhere.  
My father wasn't a perfect man, not even close; he married my mother for heaven's sake! But I can't necessarily blame him, she set a perfect trap. They had a mutual acquaintance and when she heard about my father and how loaded he was she 'bumped' into him after one of his seminars. She came across as sweet, soft spoken, and broken. She asked for his help and he couldn't refuse her.  
I'm afraid I never had the pleasure of meeting this perfectly artificial version of my mother. She must have been something.  
My father fell in love with a con-artist and when her true form came out, when she had what she wanted, he couldn't accept it. He couldn't accept that as a person whose whole life has revolved around studying human behaviour, that she had duped him. He couldn't accept that the woman he fell in love with didn't exist. He wanted to believe his wife was in there somewhere, like she had an alternate personality or something that he just had to coax out of her. My father wasn't perfect, he had been so naive, he deserved so much better.  
I wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand and turned on the TV to try and get my mind off everything. A story about the Bat stopping an armed robbery at some jewellery store is what I was met with.  
My dream had rattled me and the news only sparked a rage in me amidst my whirlpool of emotions already swirling inside of me. The Bat wasn't a hero, he made me sick. My father was a hero in his own way, but he wasn't. Law, order, justice, that's what the Bat supposedly stands for, but the ironic thing is that he's a _vigilante._ He's a self-appointed bringer of justice who breaks the law to uphold the law?  
He's a murderer, he has committed countless crimes but he never needs to pay for it because he hides behind his mask and his gadgets claiming that what he does is for 'the greater good'. He's a hypocrite!  
Men like Mister J turned their back on the law because of its inane double standards and complete irrelevance. If Mister J killed a government official he would be called a murderer. If the Bat killed a government official then it's justice. It's a drastic comparison but it makes no sense. None of it makes any sense.  
The Bat who is supposed to be this epitome of goodness isn't _really_ good at all, he's a hypocritical coward. Now, I know goodness, my father was a good man in spite of his follies. He was smart, and he was good, and he was kind, and he was murdered. Where is the justice in that? The good don't last in this world, 'heroes' don't last. They either die early or they live long enough to watch themselves become a villain.  
I changed the channel, suddenly feeling very cold and disoriented. My thoughts had taken a darker turn and I didn't quite feel like myself. That's it; I'm not doing any work for the next two days. I needed to just do my own thing and clear my mind. My thoughts didn't feel like my own.

***

I never used to have very many dreams, not ones I can remember anyway. If I did they were the kind of dreams that everyone has, sex dreams, dreams where I'm falling, dreams where I think I'm awake, and dreams that are a snowball of nonsense. The dream I had last night, the dreams I've been having, were so vivid and I just wanted them to stop.  
Some normalcy is what I needed, I had been severely lacking in 'normal' for the past couple of months and I didn't need to think about it to know why.  
I jumped when someone's cart hit mine as I rounded the corner. I was quick to apologize, a brief moment of recognition occurring when I noticed his bright brown eyes as they met mine. Where had I seen him before? His sandy blonde hair was slicked to the side and his shy smirk seemed so familiar.  
"Don't apologize, it was my fault for texting and driving," he said with a small laugh as he held up his phone.  
The corner of my mouth twitched. He was the type of guy I used to find attractive with those creamy eyes like swirling pools of caramel, sun kissed skin, and almost statuesque physique.  
"A dangerous thing, that. I should get security over here to confiscate your vehicle," I said lightly and he smiled.  
There was something in that smile that I found lacking but I couldn't place it.  
"You're Harley, right?"  
My jaw tightened and fear bloomed within my breast for a moment. Reading his face I noted quickly that it was just a common error, nothing more. Taking his outstretched hand I shook it firmly.  
"It's Harleen, actually. How'd you…?"  
He looked mildly embarrassed, "Right! Sorry, umm, Mr. Brody hired me to be a part of the new security team at Arkham. I've heard a lot about you, Doctor Quinzel."  
"Oh yes, I remember now. And good things I hope," I whispered, pushing my glasses up.  
"I think you taking the case on is pretty badass,"  
Hmm, interesting. By that he meant the Jokers case of course, but the compliment took me aback. I thought anyone hired by a misogynistic prick like Brody would be just as bad. I suppose I should try to give him the benefit of the doubt.  
"He's misunderstood and needs help, just like everyone else."  
"Yeah, yeah, that's pretty amazing. I know I'm relatively new but it's obvious you've made a significant change in him."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, just looking at the charts says it all. He hasn't had a violent outburst in months. You're doing better than any other doctor in the joint, if you ask me. You sure have surpassed Shrike."  
I gave him a small smile, "Thank you Mr…"  
"Berry-wait! Andrew, No, sorry, not Berry Andrew. My name is Andrew Berry."  
His flustered ramblings made me laugh lightly; it felt good, _normal_ even.  
"Well, it's nice to meet you, _Berry Andrew._ Try to keep your eyes on the aisles." I moved past him.  
 _Are you flirting? Was that you trying to flirt? With that guy?  
_ I faltered at the sound of her voice in my head and paused in the next aisle over.  
He's nice.  
 _Obviously you aren't looking hard enough.  
_ "Hey doc?"  
For a moment I didn't realise it was Andrew who had spoken. I turned back to him.  
"You dropped this," he held out my pocket book and I took it quickly, tucking it into my bag.  
"You gonna' charge me for littering?"  
He laughed lightly, running a hand through his hair and I wanted to kick myself.  
 _I want to kick you too._  
"I've overdone it now, I realise that," I mumbled.  
"No, no, you didn't. I started it, this downward spiral of legal jokes is all my fault and frankly I'm ashamed," he said dramatically.  
 _If we bludgeon him the legality of it all won't be much of a joke anymore, to you, anyway.  
_ "As you should be,"  
He grinned, "I'll catch you later, doc. Try not to get into anymore _cart_ accidents-"  
I grimaced half-jokingly, "Now you've overdone it,"  
He sucked the air through his teeth, "Yeah, that was my bad. I'll see myself out. Catch you around, Harleen," he cast me one last smile before leaving.  
Now why can't I get a guy like that?  
 _You're kidding yourself if you actually think you_ _ **want**_ _a guy like that.  
_ "Just shut up!" I snapped.  
The sound of something crashing to the floor drew my gaze to the elderly woman halfway down the aisle. She was looking at me with a startled and angry look and there was a smashed jar of salsa at her feet.  
Gritting my teeth I silently backed out of the aisle and walked away.

 **[Reasonings: If any of you didn't catch it the dream sequence in this chapter was an ode to the animated series when you see the role reversal where Harleen becomes the patient and Mister J the therapist. For this chapter we wanted to give the reader some insight on Harley's dad which we will explore more in the upcoming chapters.  
We kind of wanted to place him on almost a pedestal, sure Harleen knows he was a flawed person (who isn't) but we felt it was important for her to idolise him and he would be one of her driving factors in her desire to become a therapist. As well as for one other reason that will be revealed later. We felt it necessary to use her father as almost a foil to show part of why she is so adamant to help everyone and do her job well, but also to place an emphasis on her changing mental state. I'm sorry if that's a bit confusing. If you want to know anymore just shoot me a message, and we appreciate all of you who have been with us from the beginning. To our new fans, welcome, and we love you all.  
Xoxo,  
Doc and Muse] **


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